I cannot get you
by Violet1979
Summary: Lexie gets pushed to stop talking in circles. Post 6x24. Mark/Lexie, some Alex/Lexie.


**Author's note:**  
I integrated a few lines of the sides for 7x01 verbatim, but just for fun, not profit, of course.  
Title taken from Andrew Belle, In my veins.

I.

On the very first day back at work, she gets to scrub in on a shooting victim.

She knows that she's supposed to act professionally, and if she had not succeeded in going through the motions in pre-op without attracting attention, she wouldn't have made it into the OR in the first place. She knows that. She even calmed down the patient's hysterical brother who brought him in. If there had been any inappropriate tears, nobody noticed.

And the moment she sees the chest wound exposed between the sheets on the operating table, she knows that yes, it's entirely irrational to envy this guy, but she does anyway, and fervently so, because he's under general anesthesia, because he made it into a proper OR, because he bravely took the bullet that was assigned to him.

And oh, how much she hates the fact that she keeps fucking everything up. Because how can she hide the rush of panic that the damn memory floods her with? She literally feels the bile raise in her throat, and she breaks into a very noticeable sweat.

No, no, no, she won't think about what they did to Alex. Not now.

And she needs to do something about this, and quick, and the first thing that springs to her mind is blurting with fake self-irony, "Did they at least catch the guy who did it? Or is he coming over for his revenge on everybody, due to another fatal neglect of mine?"

And of course, this sorry excuse for a joke fails spectacularly, as all hands stop their busy prepping and all heads turn to stare at her. Oh dear god.

"Shouldn't you have other things on your mind?" Dr. Bailey snaps harshly, scalpel at the ready, gesturing to the others to get on with the work. She is so going to throw her out.

Lexie's cheeks burn under the surgical mask, and she stammers, "I, I'm so s,sorry, Dr. Bailey." She looks down, and there it is, still, the gunshot wound, the big reminder of all that she is sorry about. "I am so sorry for my mistake that caused the… situation, and I wish I knew how to make it right." She's really babbling to nobody in particular, and under Miranda Bailey's exasperated stare, she fidgets, balling up her gloved fingers, stretching them, trying to find something to hold on to.

Of course she is well aware that Dr. Bailey is a victim of her mistake, too. She should be grateful that her own patient made it. Her boyfriend. Her boyfriend made it. "I mean, I wish I didn't… thank god, at least Alex is doing better..." she trails off stupidly.

Bailey looks at her sternly. "Listen. I love Alex Karev. I pray every day that he will soon be back to being king of cocky around here. But that's not what I meant."

And as if she had not caused enough trouble in the last few minutes, Lexie can't for the life of her imagine a better answer than shaking her head, and her involuntary lack of comprehension ticks Bailey off for real.

"I lost Charles Percy, a fine fellow doctor, who was thirty-one," Bailey starts loudly, "he bled out on me, and I know you are _so _eager to claim this as your fault. But let me tell you, you're woefully _wrong_." Bailey snorts disdainfully to underline her point.

All this does for Lexie, though, is make her wish and wish that she could erase that burden from Bailey's memory. It should be enough that she is already carrying this piece of guilt, too. It's hard to focus on Bailey's words while images of smirking 'Big Foot' keep flashing before her eyes, and oh god, she is so sorry.

Yet, this is Bailey's roll. "You know what he regretted the most, when I couldn't stop the blood seeping out of him? It was not coming up with the courage to admit his love to Reed Adamson."

Mesmerized, Lexie stares at the scalpel Bailey is pointing at her. "You're not like him, Grey. You're courageous. You're _alive_. You're _saving lives_. Don't waste your time being sorry for things you cannot control."

Bailey glares at Lexie intently, searching for a reaction that Lexie does not know how to deliver.

Truth be told, it's becoming quite creepy that Bailey always seems to know her better than she herself. She hastily blinks away the obtrusive memory of a blinding kiss that got her thrown out. Next step, get a grip on this dead giveaway of a wide-eyed stare on her face.

"Okay", she finally nods as calmly as possible.

In the end, Bailey just shakes her head a few times and does not look at Lexie again all through the surgery.

II.

A thousand conflicting emotions drive her to Alex's bedside as soon as she has scrubbed out.

He's awake and surprised that she's back again.

Who is she kidding? He's pissed off that she is back. Right, he sent her away before the surgery, back to her shift. With words of the rude variety. Whatever.

"Lexie", he says exasperatedly, as she plunges down on him with a kiss. "Why the hell are you back _again_?"

"Looking after you. It's what girlfriends do." She replies in as light a tone as she can muster.

The bad feeling crawls all over her again as she watches him tense and sigh. And of course, she knows that what they are doing, will only keep hurting. Well, that's an important part of what she came here for, isn't it?

"Listen," he growls, "I hate your guilt trip, and I hate being pitied. I told you yesterday, and I told you this morning, and-"

"I know that," she interjects, "I don't-"

"Stop denying it already. I fucking _know _you think it's your fault I was shot. Which is total bullshit. If this is anyone's fault, it's not yours. If there's anyone to be punished here, it's certainly not _you_. Not everything is always about you, Grey."

He's trying to drive her away, but she understands. She takes his hand.

He withdraws his hand with a forceful jerk. "Look. I wish I could be back at work, like you. So go back to work. Go away."

"Alex. Please let me take care of you." She won't dare to imagine what assisting on a surgery like the one she just assisted on would do to him. She's positive she can't leave him until she has properly apologized for the cutting and the gagging and the general rampage situation, one more time.

And then, there's still a lot of betrayal that needs to be confessed and made up for. Her stomach clenches at the thought. She won't do it right now, of course. She's still working on a plan of just how exactly she could do it. She just needs a little time. She would love a little sex, too.

But Alex's resorted to just glaring at her, and finally, she falters, and is just about to give in and walk away, for now, when he suddenly changes gears and grabs her hand.

She smiles at him.

"Okay then," he begins, and the dead serious look on his face extinguishes her smile, "I'll tell you. I also don't want to hurt you anymore. You are great. Really, really nice, and healthy, a great girl. I don't deserve you at all." She wants to protest, but he won't let her. "I don't deserve you because I don't love you. Doubt I ever will. I even tried to, and now I'm sure I just can't. That's just the way it is." He looks at her apologetically. "And that's just not enough for you. Or for me."

Wow. She knew this was coming ever since he called for Izzie Stevens, but she's still not prepared for it to be coming so soon. "So that's that, and we're over?", she asks around the lump in her dry throat.

"Yeah. We're over," he nods.

And she knows that she should gladly accept this as the deserved punishment that it is, and of course he is right. For Alex's sake, they should stop doing this. His heart clearly belonged somewhere else all along. She would have stayed, though, to help him get back to his former self, for it is not his fault that he got shot. There may have been other reasons, too.

"And if we just returned to a sex thing? Non-exclusively?", she tries, for to be honest, she is really, really not prepared at all for how she is feeling right now.

"I suppose we could do that, if I wasn't so sure it would hurt you," he says softly and not without regret.

Oh, she hates having things decided for her for her own good. "Why would it hurt _me_? Wasn't it _you _that upgraded this relationship?"

"I thought so too until…" He doesn't finish that thought, and that's when it suddenly dawns on her what may have caused this all to come up so much earlier than she expected.

"Until I said something stupid," she slowly completes his sentence.

He nods almost imperceptibly.

"How?" He can't know, right? It's a good thing that she is so angry now, or else she would probably instantly die of embarrassment. She concentrates on glaring at him, and she gets it from the guilty look in his eyes, "Mark told you."

Alex's look confirms it by turning even guiltier.

She lets go of his hand. "And you two bargained who could have me, did you," she says loudly. What the fuck. Assholes.

"No! Hell no," Alex can do angry, as well, "don't ask me why he even told me. It doesn't exactly make him look good in front of me, or what? He's sort of the big loser, begging to be laughed at, acting all weird. I thought he was fucking with me, but he… wasn't." He gazes out of the window, having run out of steam all too quickly.

She wants to continue glaring at him and refuse to believe a single word.

But when he catches her eye again, it's almost as if they really _see _each other for the first time in a long while, and they kind of agree to soften a bit.

"I'm sorry for what I did to you in that room, Lexie," he says quietly. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Her fingers are itching to go for his hand again, but she controls them.

"I know," she says, "you couldn't help it." And she means it, almost completely means it. Who knows what she would have said if she had been in his place, like she should have been. He couldn't help it.

"It seems like he still loves you." He aims for a grunt of disgust, but he can't quite pull it off, due to that sad half-smile on his face. She has always liked his smile. And she's honestly still convinced he likes it when she reciprocates.

"I don't know if he ever loved me," she admits, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

The silence envelops them for a moment, and she thinks about Mark, and what he said, and how he tasted, and how she still can't trust his words and lips. How it still matters even when other things are hurting, too.

It's Alex who breaks the silence, pensively, "And what do you think, do _you _still love him?"

And to this, she really has no answer that she wants anyone to hear. She is not ready for this. The mere thought of that feeling floods her with adrenaline.

"Come on, Lexie," Alex says. "I hate being pitied."

"I'm so sorry, Alex", she manages to whisper before the tears start.

"Don't be," Alex says, and sighs. And it's clear that he isn't interested in any expansion on her guilt, so maybe it's alright that she won't be confessing any more specific infidelities any time soon, after all.

His hands remain where they are, lying idly on his blanket, while she covers her face with her own, wiping and digging at her wet skin. Strangely, though, the understanding that he may feel a bit sad right now, too, happens to be just enough to help her pull herself back together.

While she's leaving, though, she turns back to him once more, because she quite simply doesn't have it in her to leave him like that. "You know, I'm still going to visit you anyway, just because you're… you're much less of a jerk than you strive to be."

And of course Alex rolls his eyes at that, but she knows that he still appreciates it, very much.

III.

She wasn't exactly looking for him at first. She was just taking care to use the floors of the plastics department as often as possible while still doing the jobs assigned to her.

She's not even sure why. What she is going to say to him. She kind of hopes that he would help her a bit with that. It has certainly been obvious that she is a little confused these days.

But one thing's sure, when she finally has to acknowledge that she hasn't seen him around for three days straight, her need for certainty becomes downright frantic. She checks everything she can, as fast as she can. He's not on the surgery schedule. He's not on the shift plan. His office is locked. His locker is locked.

And she's starting to feel really queasy.

So, she has to find Callie Torres instead, for she already _knows _anyway, more than anybody else at least, and that's why it's not entirely impossible to hurry to Callie's department and startle her from her paperwork at the counter with a blunt question like, "Hey, um, do you know, where, where Mark is? Is he sick?"

Not nearly as impossible as calling him, that is.

Callie purses her lips and takes her sweet time in checking her out with more than just a hint of contempt, obviously pondering how much she should disclose to her best friend's pathetic kind-of-ex. And Lexie is fine with that, really, for she is right in the mood for being punished anyway, and she waits without fidgeting too much. She thinks.

And so, it's almost too soon when Callie says curtly, "He's in New York."

Oh. "What?" That's bad. Lexie swallows and tries for nonchalant. "On a holiday, now?" A passing nurse catches her eye and she reflexively nods to her; just a moment of respite before returning to Callie's intimidating stare.

"Nope," is all that Callie answers to Lexie's pleading look, before returning her attention to her files.

And Lexie gets it, why she has to beg for every piece of information, she gets it. "Mark, is he…" and she hopes Callie Torres is satisfied with the level of humiliation that is evident in a trembling voice like that, "is he… gone?" She swallows again, although her mouth is completely dry. "Like, did he quit?"

"He got a job offer from NY Presbyterian, and he said he's going to have a look at that," Callie says icily, and Lexie suddenly feels the urgent need to sit down. Due to the absence of chairs, she has to grab the counter instead. Just for a short moment.

Callie's not finished with her, though, "Mark was really upset about you, too."

"He threw me out," Lexie admits and casts her eyes down, for she really doesn't need Callie's disdain in order to feel ashamed of herself. She swallows again, although she feels certain that her mouth will remain dry for all eternity.

On the other hand, a little question wouldn't really add to her discomfort right now. "Do you think… it's true? That he, really, kind of… wants me back?"

"Course he does. Dear god," Callie simultaneously snorts and shakes her head, "how can you be this stupid, Grey? It's more the question of, do _you _really love _Karev_, as you allegedly declared right in front of Mark?"

"I don't know what made me say that," Lexie says quickly, hoping that the lie will do. It's already become a habit. But on second thought, maybe it's time to break some habits. "I'm not in love with Alex. Actually... I don't know, whom, or if, I love anybody at all."

"You know what?" Callie yells fiercely, targeting her pen at Lexie, "just shut up until you get a grip on reality! And keep the hell away from him until you do so!"

And Lexie only feels so very tired suddenly. She hangs her head and holds on to the counter for dear life. Only for another second, of course.

Callie sighs at the sad sight. In a much softer voice, she adds, "The main reason Mark went to New York is because his father has been hospitalized with dementia and he has to make arrangements, as he's the only living relative."

"Oh," is all that Lexie can say. That topic feels like an old wound that has never healed properly.

Dear god, this missing piece displaces conjuring up a daughter and grandson out of nowhere, in a beat. The flash of hurt even interferes with her natural impulse to go and help.

"I worry about him, too. He just doesn't know how to do family," Callie says, misreading Lexie's reaction by far. She also squints at Lexie in a pointedly exasperated way that may suggest that this is Lexie's big go at a second chance, if she only would stop acting stupid already.

And maybe it is, and they are going to have that long-overdue conversation about various ways of being selfish, after all.

IV.

Interim chief Webber made her promise to see the new trauma counselor before leaving, and so she's here, and while she is, she figures she can as well be cooperative. She'll report everything. Everything that is Perkin's business, anyway.

And so she meticulously recounts what she witnessed on that awful day, including all the relevant medical context of the Clark case, using all adequate vocabulary and ignoring all screaming and whispering. From time to time, she finds herself wondering how closely her eye-witness account corresponds to what Perkins should already know, and she strives to tell it like she did before. Like Mark would have, too.

And because she's a professional, too, she finishes her summary with as polite a self-diagnosis as she can, "I apologize in advance for all the work you're going to have with me, because on a professional level, I perfectly understand that you won't agree that this was all my fault - but still, I'm afraid that I will remain convinced that it _is_." She uses her most charming smile for that. Doesn't hurt that Perkins is, frankly, easy on the eyes.

However, Perkin's previous friendly smiles and encouraging nods are suddenly all gone, and she's severely taken aback by his cold, dismissive reply, "You won't believe it, but you're not all that special. In fact, you're the third person who claims all the responsibility for this rampage. That's not the problem I'm having with you, Dr. Lexie Grey."

Whoa, she's been cooperative on a precarious topic, and now he's attacking her? Must be some kind of trick. She racks her brain for the thousands of pages of her psych clerkship, but it's taking too long. "What do you want me to say?" she says guardedly. "I'll say it." She would cross her arms if she hadn't done that already right upon taking a seat in the first place.

He replies in a much softer voice, leaning back in his chair, "I don't think you're being honest with me or yourself. And that's potentially a dangerous thing. What is it that you're not telling me?"

And it really comes in handy that she's been getting some practice in keeping secrets lately. Best thing to do, just shrug. Keep your head high.

"You see, this is a very gossipy place," he says exasperatedly, "I've been here for only two days, and I already know more about the two men you spent the day with than you volunteered. You were romantically involved with that legendary womanizer until he-"

"Dr. Sloan saved Dr. Karev's life, that's his role in the gun rampage" she cuts in on him sharply.

"Is it?" He retorts. "There's something missing here, Dr. Grey. You know it. Please tell me."

"I don't know what you mean," she stalls, although she's getting more nervous by the minute. She tries hard to keep her hands still, and successfully so, as she notes with satisfaction.

Perkins scrutinizes her, and she does her best to stare back at him with raised eyebrows, until thankfully, he finally loses interest and his gaze slides away, out of the window.

She slackens a little, about to gather her things and leave without another word.

But he's not done. "When exactly did you find out about the shooter's identity, Dr. Grey?"

And the shock that he already knows is much too stupefying for her to stop the words from blurting themselves out. "When I went to the blood bank."

Perkin's voice has dropped to a whisper, as well, "did he see you, too?"

"Yes", she says, mesmerized.

"I bet he wanted to kill you," he says quietly.

"He did." And she is painfully aware of the fact that she is just about to confess anything right now.

She can't do anything about it; this horrifying scene just keeps materializing over and over again. And even though she doesn't plan on burdening anyone with this, she knows perfectly well that some of these days, she'll spill anyway. Hopefully not to an OR full of people.

She hovers, undecided.

"That must have been awful," Perkins says, and the sympathy in his voice sways her the last bit of the way.

For pity is just _wrong_. "It would have served me right. For you know what was awful? Not only am I directly responsible for the rampage, but also, I cheated on the man that was shot in my place, right then." She bites her lip, but somehow, her agony still tumbles out. "While I was waiting for the bullet to hit my head, all I could think of was wanting to kiss another man goodbye. What kind of person does that make me?"

"That makes you a human being," Perkins replies, not fazed in the least.

She takes a deep breath. He doesn't get it at all. Truth be told, "I don't recognize myself," she says feebly.

And the way he is looking at her, distant, yet concerned, all too closely reminds her of somebody else she used to confide in, and she breaks into talking, as if she could erase the images by burying them under a heap of words.

"You want the whole gossip about me? In addition to being recently motherless and co-dependent with my alcoholic father, to organizing a secret cutting club and behaving like a kleptomaniac in my intern year, and of course unplugging patients without caring enough for the bereaved family members in order to prevent carnage, I have… a _very _bad history of relationships."

Yeah, just spill, as if it would do anything but hurt worse by spelling it all out. "If you can believe it, I was a prom queen once, like an eternity ago. Yet since I'm spending all of my time in this hospital, I don't really have any friends anymore. Although I really, really tried. My own sister hated me, my various crushes ignored me, and then, against better knowledge, I fell in love with a man way out of my league, who forgot me as soon as his lost daughter showed up. I was a little taken aback, which by the way, showed so very, very literally in accidentally cutting off a piece of my own finger."

She should not linger on this, for when she does, the tissue and nerves still hurt. She's hypnotized by the sight of her fingers, but her mouth is still working. "And oh, of course, she was pregnant, and he expected me to raise her baby, because he assumed that this was his only chance at having a family. He had never even asked _me_, of course."

It still hurts badly to say it, so she accelerates. "And then I tried to get over him by first sleeping with and then pretending to have more than just sex with a married guy, never mind that he'd forgotten he'd had sex with me previously, while I was having a crush on him, in my infamous intern year, and what I didn't even know then was, that this was the very same guy that had snatched away the only woman Mark Sloan has ever been serious about, not too long ago."

Wow, it sounds unbelievably trashy even to her now. She's been gesturing like mad. And the worst is yet to come. She feels the shame heat up her entire body, and she should really stand and run, so fast. However, her insides just continue gushing out.

"And you know, if Dr. Sloan weren't such an impressive professional, you'd almost think that it would have been a very satisfying experience for him to subject Karev to the thoracostomy without anesthesia. Oh, Alex sure got his share of punishment, and there I was, accomplice to the spurned lover in torturing his rival, dear god, I can imagine what gossip would make of this. And the irony is, that I only gagged him because at that point, I was still freaking scared that the shooter would hear us, and if I'd only _known _it was Gary Clark, I wouldn't have had to worry, because he would have been content with only me, because that was his original plan. I could have saved them all by crossing his path earlier. He told me so."

And yeah, she _knows _that she's being stupid, but she just can't stop. Talking, crying, whatever. She never can.

"And then I cheated on Alex while he was _dying_, because Mark told me he loves me a week ago, after ignoring me for five months, after _never _having said anything like that before. And then, that's when it really got out of hand, because then I went and told Alex that I love him right in front of Mark, and then Alex told everybody that he still loves his wife, and later I somehow happened to be at Mark's house and demand that he fuck my brains out," she winces, "and in the wake of his refusal, there was much crying, and being kissed back, and being thrown out, and I just don't know how," and now it gets to the most painful point, "how I can ever get out of this mess."

Feels like crashing into a wall, really. "Sorry for gross over-sharing," she adds, before bending forward to hide her face in her hands.

Perkins, however, just says, "you still deserve to get out," in a matter-of-fact way, as if he'd heard all these fuck-ups many times before.

"Do I?" she says disbelievingly, peeping through her hands. "Have you been listening?"

"Nobody's perfect," he continues evenly, "and you are not the only party in this… romantic confusion. There's enough guilt for everyone to share."

And to this, she has no answer. For that just sounded exactly like something her mother would have said, and this thought does things to her that she cannot begin to let on, not now, not on top of all of this. She so needs to compose herself and get out of here.

So, she wipes at her tears and nods and attempts an acquiescent smile.

"Dr. Grey, we'll still have to work on this guilt issue about Gary Clark." Perkins smiles back at her encouragingly. "Unfortunately, our time is up for today." He shoots her a sharp look. "You will be alright until tomorrow morning, will you?"

"Of course I will," she retorts indignantly. "I am fully functioning." She tries for her best self-ironical smile, "I use to cry at least twice a day."

Perkins chuckles appreciatively, "See you tomorrow at ten, then."

"Okay," she agrees amicably, although she knows that she is never going to make it.

For her options are shrinking by the minute, and who knows who she'll tell next. Maybe she should just try and tell him how only human she is. And if that turns out to be another mistake, well then, she'll make Dr. Perkins listen to her whine about it.

V.

Heading south from 23rd Street station, she falls into a brisk pace, as if she knew exactly where she's going. The closer she gets, the less she knows.

The brownstone is beautiful, really. Stunning. But it's also out of her reach, so very much. She groans. She has no use for yet another instance of all the things that she can't grasp about him. Today, it should be more important that she is fucking mad at him.

And it's only rational to feel nervous about this, she guesses, while she's climbing the grand staircase, up to the posh 19th century door, and what's more, it's just too late to hide.

He's doesn't even try to hide his shock. He never does.

Well, she isn't sorry, because he should know by now that surprise visits are like, her mother tongue.

"Hey," she says lightly, and she wonders for the gazillionth time why she can't seem to break the habit to not wait to be invited in before launching herself into his space.

A whiff of his smell drifts into her senses as she passes him by, and the reflex of breathing in as deeply as possible is really hard to fight, and ends up suffocated in a sigh instead.

And something's definitely off. Maybe it's the unfamiliar luxury around her. She's not used to be surrounded by this amount of premium interior design. If she had ever cared enough about Architectural Digest or Elle Decor, she would know how to assess this stuff, of course, rather than feel out of place.

Then again, maybe the vibe's more about the inconsistent state the furniture are in, because all that staining and mess are kind of hard to miss, either. And of course, the first thing she noticed were the cardboard moving boxes. And the booze on the table. She swallows.

But she is not here to feel sorry for him. "So this is the Sloan family home," she says shortly. "Is your father already gone to a nursing home?"

"He's still in the hospital," Mark says, slowly, dragging the words out in a weakish way.

However, she's dead sure he isn't drunk. She'd know. Or wouldn't she? He must sense the anger simmering in her, doesn't he? She is confused. She expected some caution, if not outright defiance, for she, on her part, she does remember their last encounter. Well, she always does, and he just… doesn't.

And that's when she realizes she's never seen him like that before. Pitiable? Mark Sloan? That's kind of the problem here.

Nevertheless, it takes a lot of energy to suppress the urge to touch these shoulders which shouldn't be slumped like this. It _always _takes a lot of energy not to touch him, period. She needs to remember that she is not here to help him. For once, she is here to help herself.

"So, did you already arrange to visit Sloan, and her mother, while you're here?" she asks in as conversational a tone as she can manage.

He shakes his head dismally, pressing his lips together. And the way that he keeps coming across like the most abandoned little boy ever seriously threatens to destroy the last remnants of the precious distance she has left, and this infuriates her just enough to get right to the point.

"Did you ever introduce Sloan to her grandfather? And grandma?" She glares at him. "Oh, of course. There is no grandma. I did not even _know _that your mother is _dead_, Mark. My mother is dead, too, I think you know that." She still can't _believe _it. "And that's exactly what I can't deal with."

She holds her breath for a second to get her emotions under some semblance of control, because she needs to be heard loud and clear: "You scare me, Mark."

There is not even the weakest attempt at protest. He just slumps a bit more, avoiding her eyes. She notices that, she does, but she can't let him get away with silence like that.

She just can't do this anymore. "When my dad finally quit drinking and apologized, I wanted you to meet him because we… we're not a thing, Mark. We are serious. We are so serious it's scaring the hell out of me."

She's got his undivided attention now, that much is clear, even when their eye contact is still kind of erratic.

"It's scary because I feel like I barely even know you, and I'm so scared that, that, I will lose myself, like, completely, if I give in to that feeling. You know everything about me, and what do I know about you, really? Except for this totally misleading reputation that even Perkins knows of, and you know, this is really, really not helping at all."

And once the gates are broken, there's no stopping the flood, regardless of what his dumbstruck stare is effectively doing to her insides.

"And what's not helping either is just showing up out of the blue and declaring that I could have, have _you_, like, forever, and how the hell can _you _be _serious _about _this_? How can you be _still _in _love _with me, Mark? Do you remember that merely two weeks ago, you had successfully moved on, with Teddy Altman? Or how about, for example, a certain elevator ride, when you made it so very clear that you never loved me at all? Because I remember it all, Mark, you know I do. And I know that I just can't… I can't keep stumbling along behind you, stabbing in the dark about your plans, and your, your needs, at the mercy of what you deem fit for me to know or to do. I don't want to be included in your plans. You can't keep doing that. I can't."

Hopefully a deep breath will stop her head from spinning. "I need something from you."

He is still being attentive, eyes wide open, staring at her intently.

Good, for this is important, and she hopes he gets it. "I need you to stop hiding."

He looks at her blankly, as if this was the last thing he'd expected, after all her speech.

Right. "And this includes your family. They are my business, too. Your father, Sloan, a baby, I get to have a say in it. Because I am damn serious about you."

There, she said it. Almost, that is. Her version of a surprise proposal. And she really, really hopes that he heard the challenge, too, and not only the part where he is in her veins no matter what.

And Mark, he does not even attempt to open his mouth. She can't believe the utter lack of clever comeback; he's completely out of character. It's almost as if she has yelled at a defenseless schoolboy. She's feeling hot, and getting hotter the longer he remains silent, avoiding her eyes again, wiping through his face, being so blatantly uncomfortable that she won't be able to resist the urge to bolt much longer.

It's just so typical, though, that he has already moved solidly between her and the front door, blocking her only way out.

And so she's waiting in uncomfortable silence, while he's rubbing the back of his neck, scratching his beard, crossing his arms and uncrossing them, then shoving his hands into his pockets, and back, and it's not what she expected and it's terrifying. She's somewhat aware that she is fidgeting, too. And she can't stop staring at him. She can't stop staring at his lips, in particular.

"You can't be as scared as I am," he finally says with half a smirk, but she can tell that he isn't joking by the raw emotions in his voice. He's honestly... not his usual self.

And god, she didn't want this. She's truly sorry for pushing him so hard at such a time of loss and grieving, and she's just about to start backpedaling on her stupid outburst, but he's faster.

"I was… very unhappy in this house," he says. "I know you had a happy childhood. And I didn't want you to feel sorry for me… to hurt for me." He grabs his ear, and it feels as if he has grabbed something inside of _her _and squeezed, hard.

"I didn't want to hurt you," he adds softly.

For some reason she can't quite put her finger on, she thinks that she's not as pissed off as she probably should be about this.

He picks up the framed photograph of a fifty-something woman from a sideboard. She notices familiar eyes and attractive features and a lot of fingerprints on the glass. Everything about him says dejected. Oh, she knows that feeling all too well.

"This is my mom," he says, "I've been motherless even when she was alive." He replaces the picture with a sharp thud.

Oh. She doesn't know _that _feeling, and the realization makes her bite her bottom lip. An image of Ms Shepherd floats across her mind, and she suddenly understands that she had somehow mistaken her for his real mother. Or maybe, that's just her excuse for not caring to connect the dots, back then. He was right, she can't help it, she hurts for him.

And for a moment, she's at a loss for words, but it doesn't matter as he is preparing for another go at things he clearly hates admitting.

He licks his lips (and she really needs to stop staring at his lips) and shakes his head in his all too familiar way of emphasizing a point. "I'll take you to meet my dad, anytime you want. Though I'm not sure if he could have been bothered to make small talk with a… daughter-in-law." His sad little smile at that makes her belly clench. "Even back when he wasn't demented yet. When he wasn't an alcoholic yet." He's not even sarcastic. He's just utterly devoid of hope.

And she's not only hurting, but hurt, too. Of course she would have cared. Fuck, it would have been _nice _to know. And she is about to ask him _why on earth_, but he's faster again.

"And. I'm not sure if they would have made the effort to come to her son's wedding. Or get to know their grandchildren. My parents… they weren't of the liver-donating variety, Lex. And I know it's pretty scary, but that's only the tip of the iceberg about me and my family. And you… you shouldn't have to deal with that." He finishes with a brave smile that tries and fails to gloss over his trepidation, and it deprives her of any vocabulary to express herself properly.

"Oh, Mark," is all she manages, and for what may well be the first time ever, the edge of his personal space is as close as she dares to move. For even though she wants nothing more than reach out to him, she finally remembers to hold back for a sign of permission first, considering. She doesn't want him to think she pities him.

Now that she has caught a glimpse at what was holding him back then, she's feeling something else entirely.

She can't even pin it down. She just hadn't known that this place he's coming from still darkens the present. They were living in the moment then, having a great time and great sex and no reason at all to question his addictive portrayal of this hot, amazing man who knew what he wanted and how to achieve it. Who was so incredibly affectionate and loyal right behind his irresistible smirk.

How can he think that she would ever hold his parents against him?

And does he really not know that she can deal with a little darkness alright? She has a little of that in her, too. He for one should know that by now.

But then again, maybe they both are just bloody beginners in being serious about a relationship.

And it's inappropriate and precipitate, that overwhelming feeling of relief, which is already spreading through her, before she even fully fathoms the strange thought that for whatever wrong-headed reason, he wasn't hesitating to let her into _his _life, but himself into _hers_.

And suddenly she's all flushed, and not surprised to find that this feeling has already pushed her across the line into his space, against all intentions. She barely manages to stop short.

He doesn't seem to have noticed, though, as his hand falls down from where it's been on his neck, and he says quietly, without meeting her eyes, "I understand that's not what you want. I _am _scary."

Oh! However he came up with that nonsense, it's such a far cry from where she really is, that she can't help but smile, just a tiny little bit, just to herself. Who would have thought that Mark Sloan feels uncertain of Lexie Grey?

And this is it, her chance, and she catches his gaze and holds it, _really _holds it, and his eyes widen a bit. "No, you're not," and she is very satisfied with the acute determination in her voice, which doesn't give away the turmoil in her chest.

Now or never. "You are," and she feels the same involuntary smile flutter across her face, "everything I want."

And believe it or not, she _means _it.

And she continues meaning it while he's staring at her in confusion, obviously not trusting his ears. To be honest, she only just realized how much she needed to hear herself say these words out loud, in order to understand their meaning.

So she does it again. "I'm in love with you, Mark. I've always been. In love with you."

She's getting hooked on this fast. It's not even about him. She doesn't plan to convince or persuade him of anything; she needs this for herself.

She still wants him to look at her, though, so she shifts a little closer, forcing him to look into her eyes again, almost too close really. "I've been in love with you since... since you showed up to that dinner with my dad. I've been falling for you even before, I guess I was, ever since you called George an idiot for not loving me back," she discovers, wonderingly. The images bring more intensity to her smile.

But he still hasn't changed out of his incredulous staring, almost glaring even, and she still means it, but she's still herself, and tentativeness kind of defines her. "You're, you're not scary. I am scared, I am, but that's just what I feel, because I'm me, and you are, you are… you. And you're amazing and you're sleeping around and you said I can have a husband and you are so hard to understand. But I'll always want you. No matter what, I'll always want you." She's hot again, and not in a good way. "If you still want me."

And as her words linger between them, and the seconds tick by, all these pent-up feelings show on his face, and this encourages her to let hers show, too.

She _knows _that they'll never be back to all smiles and banter. He has hurt her to the core, and she recently has that feeling that he wasn't all that immune to her provocations either. They have a myriad of issues to sort out, and certainly not the best communication record to start from.

She's still scared of what she'll learn about him, and of what she would give up for him.

But on the other hand, it's just no choice at all that eventually, the rest of the distance simply evaporates, and his tongue is chasing hers, and a wild rush of grabbing and gasping and shoving inevitably gets her backed up against the front door and him inside her.

And the rashness isn't lost on her, but she can't help it, as they pause for a moment of recognizing, that the respite from pointless defiance evolves into a giddy smile, and when she sees the feeling reflected on his face, her tears do nothing but celebrate the freedom to be honest again.


End file.
